Love, Unwilling
by my mulligan
Summary: He would be fine.  He swore it.
1. Chapter 1

_a/n I promise I haven't given up on Puzzled or What Did You Do, Mr. Stokes. They are just hybernating, waiting for inspiration. I know how I want each of them to end, I'm just debating routes to het there. I'm so enamored with those projects, whether or not they actually deserve it, that as they each near completion I get more finicky about each chapter and it's quality. They just have to feel right, and I won't publish them until they do. I thank you for your continued patience. This is a plot bunny that started mucking about in my brain when I was trying to map out the other two. And, as always, I don't own._

**Love, Unwilling**

It had been a long time coming.

That's the only way he could describe it. Any other way just didn't make any kind of sense, at least in his head. Not that he would ever try to describe it outside his own mind…it would just be too ludicrous.

And yet, after all this time, dancing around it, here they were.

After one really, really, really fucking bad case, they'd ended up in a brief, comforting embrace, that somehow down-graded into an aggressive grope fest/make-out session, the two of them flat on the couch grinding together like hormone riddled teenagers, Nick's shirt bunched around the top of his torso, Greg's having already found it's way to the floor. From beneath him, Nick dug his fingers through Greg's hair almost violently, gripping the sides of his face harshly, his eyes remaining closed as he tore at Greg's mouth. Greg let out a low growl as he roughly grabbed the writhing hips beneath his and ground his pelvis down into the answering hardness.

And then it all went to shit.

Nick's eyes flew open as he suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing, and with whom.

And then it really all went to shit.

The look on Nick's face as he pushed Greg off of him was akin to horror. Wide-eyed, wild haired and rumpled, he backed himself to the corner of the couch as he absently ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Greg managed to pull himself into a sitting position and crawled away until his back hit a wall, bringing his knees up and resting his forearms on them, long fingers dangling between his legs. He let his head fall back and hit the wall, hard, twice. Fuck.

Nick stood and leaned heavily against the bookshelf filling the side of the room, his back to the room and his fingers gripping the shelf hard enough to whiten his knuckles, the force eventually knocking the shelf off of it's support, the books that had been on it hitting the floor with dull thuds. Greg ran one hand roughly through his hair, pulling it by it's roots and leaving it standing on end. One more time he let his head hit the wall as he drew in a harsh breath, flaring his nostrils at the stinging sensation at the back of his sinuses. He felt his eyes well up, his chin wobble, before locking his jaw and blinking rapidly. Fuck no, he wouldn't cry for this man. He wouldn't. He flexed his legs and slid himself up the wall, wincing as the textured plaster dug into his scarred back. Nick turned to look at his colleague, guilt and fear consuming his handsome face.

"Greg…"

Greg whipped his shirt off the floor and tugged it over his head awkwardly before responding, "Don't."

"But…" Nick stammered, uncharacteristically verbally awkward.

Greg put both his hands up, silencing the other man. "Just, don't. Just fucking don't. I get it. Just let it lie. We'll just forget it happened."

Nick stared at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Greg grabbed his keys and slammed his way out of Nick's apartment. Nick let his knees buckle and collapsed onto his couch in a heap, rubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes. "Fuck."

Greg put his car in gear and drove carefully home, almost too carefully, like someone just a little too tipsy to drive. He hyper focused on every aspect of the drive in order to block everything else out. When he finally reached his home, he allowed himself one single moment of silent misery before getting out of his car and heading for his apartment. He threw his keys and phone in the dish on the table at the side of the door after turning the ringer on his phone off, and then allowed himself to slump into the corner of his worn leather sofa, remote in his hand. Clicking idly through the stations repeatedly managed to numb his brain for a bit, but after an hour he clicked the television off in disgust and stood, stretching, considering. He headed for his bedroom and began digging through the bottom of his closet until he pulled out the running shoes he hadn't worn in well over a year. After pulling on a pair of shorts and lacing up his trainers, he headed out into the cool Vegas night to run off what was eating him.

When he returned home, he felt better. He felt resolved. Alone was okay, but he would be better, faster, stronger. After a long hot shower he set his alarm and fell into a fitful sleep.

The next day, thankfully, he wasn't scheduled to work. The first thing he did was empty out his refrigerator. No beer, no twinkies, no fruit loops, no more take out. He threw some clothes on and headed for the market, loading up on protein shakes, protein bars, Gatorade and bottled water. He added some raw fruit and veggies, as well as a couple of gallons of skim milk. Better, faster, stronger. He kept repeating it in his head like a mantra. He didn't need anyone, particularly a certain colleague. He would be fine. He would be better than fine.

Once he'd gotten home and unloaded his groceries, he headed down to the previously unused weight room. He eyed the equipment with distaste but squared his shoulders and headed for the free weights lined up along the mirrored wall, picking up a single twenty pound dumbbell before climbing onto the incline board. He held the weight to his chest, somehow relishing how it pressed down on his sternum and began a routine of crunches, only stopping when his abs physically gave out. After a moment, he moved to the leg press and repeated the experience. When his quads finally gave out, he hauled himself back to his apartment and into a long, hot shower.

Greg downed a protein shake and a protein bar without tasting it, chasing it with a Gatorade standing at his kitchen island and staring listlessly into space. His eyes fell on the mess on the kitchen table and he cocked his head as he considered his project. He hadn't worked on it in well over a month. It would fill up the rest of his weekend nicely. Better than wasting it playing video games or watching movies. Better, faster, stronger. He turned, resolutely, to his television set, pausing for only a moment before pulling out his games and game systems, disconnecting them and piling them haphazardly on the coffee table. Greg considered them for only a moment more before piling them carefully into a packing box he'd found in his spare bedroom and setting the box by the front door with the intention of dropping it at a donation site on his next trip out. He smiled to himself, grimly, and turned back to the project laying neglected on his kitchen table.

XXXXXXXX

Two days later Greg rounded the corner into the locker room at work, realizing too late that Nick was already there, his locker open as he hung his bag and jacket up. Nick jumped a bit, almost imperceptibly, when he realized Greg was in the room. Greg froze for an instant, unsure how to react, but then calmly, cautiously turned to his own locker and slowly opened it.

"Hey, man, about the other day…" Nick started.

Greg's eyes snapped to the other man's. "I said forget it," his voice riding the line between icy and wooden.

"So, are we okay then?" Nick asked tentatively, glancing quickly at Greg as he removed his jacket, then averting his eyes back to his own locker and furrowing his brow.

Greg gritted his teeth. "Sure. We're _fine_," the muscle in his cheek tense, wondering briefly why no one ever said they were _fine_ and ever, in his memory, sounded like they actually meant it.

Nick whooshed out a sigh of relief. "Great, G." He reached out to clap his friend on the shoulder, only to be rebuffed as Greg jerked out of the way of his hand.

Eyes like lead instead of their usual gold met Nick's, "Don't. Touch me."

Nick pulled his hand back as though burned, understanding finally that the damage done was worse than he thought, but he had no idea how to fix it. He nodded grimly and looked at the floor, closing his locker and giving Greg a wide berth as he left the room, saying softly "I'm really sorry" just as the door closed behind him.

Greg let out a long ragged breath and let himself collapse onto the bench in a sloppy pile. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Better, faster, stronger. Pulling himself together he straightened his back and allowed his eyes to unfocus as he his mind sharpened. He stood and headed to Ecklie's office, knocking and closing the door behind him. Ecklie looked surprised when Greg spoke his piece, but nodded and pulled the appropriate paper work out of his drawer. Greg filled it out quickly and efficiently, Ecklie checked it over and handed him a voucher to take to the armory and a card with an appointment on it. An hour later, Greg sat at the break room table, waiting for assignments with the rest of the grave shift, his new gun nestled in it's holster on his side.

Nick had carefully chosen a seat farthest away from Greg, with Sara blocking his view, though he frowned when Greg removed a bottle of water from the fridge. He'd never seen the man drink anything but coffee, at least in this room.

Grissom handed out assignments and thankfully, Greg was paired with Sara. She never noticed how quiet he was, just that he seemed super efficient and focused. She didn't notice the addition to his gear, either. They gathered their evidence in relative silence, speaking only when necessary to share information. Sara was usually so focused, anyway, Greg mused. He had learned a lot from her over the years. Better, faster, stronger, he repeated to himself. Sara and he worked together for the next three days to solve the B & E turned double homicide. Greg couldn't remember ever being so glad to not see Nick. He wondered, briefly, if he'd get over this painful awkwardness he now felt around his one time friend, his colleague. He'd worked so hard to become an asset to the team. He'd be damned if he would let some emotional complications take that away. Better, faster, stronger. He'd be _fine_. He swore it.


	2. Chapter 2

a/n This little chapter dedicated to my girl CrystallineSolid. Check her out! p.s. still don't own.

Love, Unwilling

Chapter Two

It took a little more than two months for anyone to notice that Greg had become an armed member of the team, not that Greg was counting. The days had melded into an almost comfortable rhythm of work and work outs and projects. Nothing came into his sphere of being and was allowed to impact him directly, but he soon realized that no one cared. They were all involved in their own lives and without the Haley's Comet of Greg drawing on their orbits, they remained in their own gravity, colliding only when necessary to relay information. But one day Nick ended up in Greg's periphery, in the locker room. Although Greg had worked on several cases with Nick, he'd maintained absolute professional courtesy and a physical distance that Nick found painfully uncomfortable. Nick had never realized how often he had invaded the man's personal space until he couldn't anymore. But that day in locker room Greg had come in after him, earbuds in his ears and eyes glued to the screen of his phone. Oblivious, Greg set his phone down and pulled his locker open, moving his jacket and bag into it. As Greg removed his jacket, Nick caught the firearm out of the corner of his eye and stilled, confused.

"Since when do you carry?" he asked, perplexed.

Greg flinched imperceptibly. He narrowed his eyes and worked his jaw. He was really going to have to start chewing gum soon or he wouldn't have any molars left. Looking straight into his locker he replied, "Since about two months ago." His gaze caught the post-it note he'd attached to the shelf. After a moment he crumpled the little yellow square and let it fall to the floor.

"Wow. Well, holler at me if you ever want to go to the range. I could use the practice."

"I don't need to go to the range, thanks just the same." Greg responded quietly.

"Really. You up for a little friendly competition?"

Greg turned to face his colleague, crossing his arms over his chest and leveling his gaze. "Just because I chose not to carry, you shouldn't assume I'm not proficient at firearms." He turned and closed his locker and moved to leave the room. "If you feel you need to compete, you're welcome to compete against my qualifying target. They put it on the wall of the armory."

Nick closed his locker and sat on the bench heavily, frowning at himself. The crumpled yellow paper caught his eye and he scooped it up and smoothed it out against a jean-clad thigh. Three words were written in careful block printing, the writing Greg used when he was focusing and knew his normal messy scrawl wouldn't cut it. Better, faster, stronger, Nick read. His brow furrowed. Without understanding why, he carefully folded the little yellow square so it stuck to itself and then slid the little rectangle into his wallet behind his ID. He absently slapped the refolded wallet against his thigh for a moment before rising resolutely and heading out to the break room to start his shift.


	3. Chapter 3

Love, Unwilling

Chapter Three

_Sara_.

"Hey, did you know Greg started carrying?" Nick asked Sara as he photographed blood drops.

Sara looked up from where she was taking prints off of a doorknob, a quizzical look on her face. "Carrying what, exactly?" she asked, a half of a smirk in her voice.

"He's armed, Sara."

She looked up sharply at that. "He is not."

"He is. For two months now. His qualifying target is hanging in the armory. Apparently he broke some kind of record. It's the tightest cluster I've seen."

Sara looked back towards her doorknob, though she didn't see it as she sat back on her heels and rested her hands on her thighs. "Huh." She furrowed her brow, wondering how in the hell she'd missed that.

Later that night, after she and Nick had cleared their paperwork for the night, Sara went looking for Greg, eventually finding him in an office, dark but for the desk lamp lighting the desk's surface. She smiled at him as she watched his profile, bent over his work. "Hey," she greeted him softly.

He looked up at her, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to her standing in the darkened room. "Oh. Hi. Did you need something?" he responded, dropping his pen onto the work surface.

She smiled at him. "Shifts over. Why don't you come to breakfast with us? You haven't been out with us in forever."

Greg crossed his arms and rested his elbows on the desk. "Yeah, I know, I've been busy." He looked at his watch before stretching and yawning. "I've already eaten, anyway."

Sara bent over the trash can and gingerly lifted a protein bar wrapper out by her index and middle finger, eying it in obvious distaste. "You do know this isn't actually food, right?"

Greg gave her a small smile before looking at his watch again. "Regardless, I've got to go. I've gotta be at the shelter in thirty minutes."

Sara crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame, observing Greg closely. "What are doing at a homeless shelter?"

"It's Thursday. Animal shelter. Volunteering. Walking the dogs. Anyway, gotta go. Thanks for the invite. Maybe next time." He pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and pulled it on, digging for his keys in a pocket.

Sara frowned. "'Kay. Next time." She watched him walk down the hall and out of the building, her own mood pensive. Collecting her own gear, she went to join the rest of the team at the diner, ordering her usual but only picking through it listlessly.

Eventually, Nick, seated next to her, asked her what was up. She dropped her fork on her plate.

"Did you know Greg volunteers at a shelter?"

Nick slowly finished chewing as he thought. Swallowing hard, he responded. "That makes sense. We were following a lead at a soup kitchen last week and several of the regulars knew Greg by name."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "That's interesting. He said on Thursdays he volunteers at the animal shelter. You're saying he volunteers at a homeless shelter, too?"

"How the hell does he have time for all that?" Nick asked incredulously.

Sara pushed her half-empty plate away from her. "I don't know, but I've sort of lost my appetite. I think I'm gonna go. I'll see you all tomorrow."

She wondered what else she'd missed.


	4. Chapter 4

Love, Unwilling

Chapter Four

_Catherine_

"You wanted to see me, Catherine?"

Catherine looked up from her computer screen, blinking tiredly through her reading glasses before removing them and tossing them on top of the files spilling across her desk and tucked a stray piece of her bangs out of her eyes.

"Yes, come in Greg." She smiled briefly before rising and closing the door and motioning to a chair.

Greg sat in the chair and shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't remember the last time Catherine had closed that door, and he was having a flashback to an unfortunate visit to the principal's office after he had accidentally blown up his high school's chemistry lab.

Catherine folded her hands in her lap and evaluated the man in front of her, spinning her chair back and for a bit as she put her thoughts in order. Plus, as supervisor, she enjoyed making her boys sweat once in a while.

She took a deep breath and dove into murky waters.

"I've been working on yearly performance reviews, Greg."

"Okay," Greg responded, cautiously.

Catherine rested her cheek on her hand as she continued, "You're personal solve rate has increased by almost fifty percent in the last four months." Greg merely blinked in response. "However, as a team, our solve rate has dropped twenty percent."

Greg felt the muscle twitch under his left eye, but otherwise stayed almost unnaturally still as Catherine studied him.

"Something's changed recently. You've become extremely serious and….focused. Your performance, and every aspect of your behavior, has been very…professional lately."

"I'm confused. Has my performance been unsatisfactory? Are you seriously blaming the team's drop in performance on _me_ being _more_ professional?"

"Not exactly," Catherine replied. "That would be unreasonable. What I'm saying is recently something's changed in you, and I'm worried, Greg." She smiled fondly at him. "I find, once in a while, I miss your antics around here. And as a team, we're suffering without the kind of unrealistic jumps in logic you used to specialize in, the ones that would get us thinking in a new direction."

Greg stood, abruptly. "I'm so sorry that I can't be your….comic relief anymore. I will endeavor to improve my perceived value to the team, although you might be better off continuing to send me on solos. Apparently that's where I'm most effective. If there's nothing else?"

Catherine held up her hands, trying to pacify him. "Greg. I'm just worried about you. Something's changed with you. You know you can come to me, if something's going on, right?"

Greg turned and took the doorknob in hand, but froze momentarily before opening it to leave. Without turning, he responded, quietly, "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind. Is there anything else?"

When there was no response, Greg left and headed for the locker room to grab his gear before leaving, but ended up slumped onto the bench in front of his locker, shuffling one foot back and forth listlessly over the scuffed floor. Without him realizing it, a single tear worked it's way out of him and managed to slide down his nose to hang precariously off the end. Greg held up a palm and let the offending moisture fall onto it, studying it with disgust. He fisted his hand over the bit of salt water and squeezed until his blunt nails dug into his own flesh, desperately trying to eviscerate it and any remnants of emotion that might be tied to it. When he opened his hand, it was all gone.

He stood and cracked his neck, grabbed his jacket and bag and headed for the morgue muttering better, faster, stronger.


	5. Chapter 5

Love, Unwilling

Chapter Five

_Ray_

Greg pulled his earbuds out of his ears as he rounded the corner into Doc Robbin's house of the dead. Neither the good Doctor or Super Dave were currently in attendance, but Greg wasn't looking for either one of them, anyway. He went through the deathly quiet autopsy suite to the supply room beyond, the de facto office of the other resident doctor and knocked lightly.

The soft and serious voice of Dr. Langston invited Greg in, his eyebrow raising in silent question as Greg stood in his doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands deep in his pockets and his ankles crossed.

"Am I interrupting anything, Dr. Ray?" he asked.

Ray leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, smiling softly at the other man before responding. "Not at all. My supply closet is your supply closet." Greg smiled politely in reply. "What can I do for you, Greg? Is there a new case I wasn't aware of?"

Greg shook his head briefly. "This visit is more personal in nature." Greg looked down and shifted his weight a bit. "I actually have a favor to ask." Ray gestured to go on. "I was wondering if you could help me with some contacts at the University. I'm considering advancing my education."

Ray nodded, the fingers of one hand stroking his chin. "I have several colleagues there with whom I could put you in contact, if you wish. What course of study are you considering, if you don't mind my asking?"

Greg shrugged his shoulders. "I'm considering forensic anthropology or forensic psychology."

Dr. Langston tapped his chin and nodded again, considering. "If my understanding of your background is correct, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to pursue advanced degrees in both." He cocked his head and studied the man before him for a long moment. "I'd be happy to write a referral for you as well, but may I ask you a question in return?"

Greg pulled his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms over his chest defensively, but nodded silently in agreement.

"When I inquired what I needed to know about my new colleagues, I was told, by almost everyone, that you were brilliant, but a prankster. A card, a cut-up, if you will. So my question is, have you changed, or have I somehow not been lucky enough to be present for the show?"

Greg looked at the floor and chewed on his lip, shifting his weight again and letting his shoulder bounce against the doorframe a few times as he thought how to phrase his answer.

"Have you ever had one of those sort of epiphany moments where you realize you have to change? Where you realize being the way you are is holding you back from being who you could be? Like fighting the demons finally gets to be too much?"

He stopped himself, already having said much more than he'd intended as Ray looked on, a deep empathy lining his face and sparking in the back of his eyes.

"Yes, Greg, I know exactly what that is like," he replied, almost inaudibly and yet echoing in the stillness of the quiet morgue. "I'd be happy to help with your continuing education."

Greg nodded his thanks and took the contact info that Dr. Langston wrote down for him, folding it and tucking it into his bag. "I'd appreciated it if this could possible stay between us…."

Ray looked up at him, quizzically.

"I want to do this for personal reasons, not for any acclaim or acknowledgement. I'm going to have to talk to Ecklie, but other than you two, I'd prefer no one knew."

Ray frowned in understanding and nodded. "Certainly, but only if in exchange you cite me in your first published work," he grinned.

Greg shook his head. "You're too late for that I'm afraid," he replied enigmatically, "But I'll be sure to acknowledge you in the next one, Dr. Langston."

Dr. Ray's puzzled look followed Greg out the door as he headed for the office of his supervisor's supervisor.


	6. Chapter 6

Love, Unwilling

Chapter Six

"Well, Greg, if you're sure it won't interfere with your work load, it would be great for the department." Ecklie said as he rubbed a hand over the back of his head.

"I think, with a doctorate, the department might be able to rent me out to colleges and universities. I think I would like that, the travel and the change of scenery. Especially since I don't think I'm making as much of a contribution to the team dynamic as my superiors would like."

Ecklie gave him a puzzled look.

"Greg, you've currently got the highest solve rate on your shift, in fact on two shifts." Conrad pulled a file out of a drawer. "Yes, there's only one CSI on days that's ahead of you, and only by two cases. So why would you feel you weren't making a contribution to the team?"

Greg just shrugged, not really wanting to get into it with Ecklie. Ecklie, in turn, sighed and laced his fingers together before resting his chin on them. "Are you looking to change shifts, Greg?"

Greg considered that for several long moments. "No, I don't think so. Thanks though. I think it will be easier to work a doctorate program around grave hours. Oh, I have something for you, by the way." He pulled a flat, brown paper wrapped object out of his bag and handed it across the desk. "It's an advanced copy."

Ecklie pulled the paper off the glossy book, his eyebrows creeping towards his former hairline. He flipped quickly through it, impressed, before displaying the book prominently on the bookshelf behind him.

"Thanks, Greg," he responded warmly. "I can't wait to read it. If you have another copy, you might think about forwarding it to the mayor. I mentioned your project to him, and he said there are plans for a museum on the same lines as your book, and they might be looking for a consultant."

"Wow. Yeah, I'll do that," Greg said, nodding. "Thanks." He rose to leave. "For everything. I'll let you know if I get into the program.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Greg was, of course, accepted into the program. The university was thrilled to have him, considering he'd received his masters degrees from prestigious colleges. The work load, however, was daunting. He had to cut back on some of his workouts, but he had some daylight hours to play with since he'd completed his book. He still volunteered twice a week, though. He felt as though he needed to, for his soul and for his sanity. Throughout the years, whenever he'd felt lonely or sad, he remembered a girl he'd dated in high school. She'd been from a very religious family, which eventually drove them apart when Greg refused to attend services with them. But there was always one thing she had said that stuck with him through the years: If you're feeling sorry for yourself, go help someone who's in worse shape than you. You'll realize you're not so bad off, you'll feel better from helping someone else, and the other person benefits. Win-win. Greg refused to acknowledge that he was sad or lonely, on the face of it. But he was an Eagle Scout. 'An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure' was one of the boy scout mottos, and thus he continued to make time in his week for the shelter.

At one point, on a case with Nick that involved a dog, Nick tried to wheedle some info out of Greg about his volunteering. Greg replied as tersely as he could until he could find some evidence to process to get out of the discussion. But Nick didn't seem to want to let it drop. On the way back to the lab he rambled on about how much he loved dogs, about his dog growing up, and how much he missed him. Greg remained silent, staring vacantly out the passenger window, eventually pulling his earbuds out of his jacket and inserting them in his ears.

Nick stopped mid-sentence and looked over to see his unresponsive colleague. He felt a dull pain in his chest as he chewed on his bottom lip and furrowed his brow. He missed the relationship he'd had with this man before. Before it went to hell. He let out a deep sigh and proceeded into the intersection, continuing on toward the lab, a brief thought flitting through his head. It was Thursday morning. Greg volunteered on Thursdays.

A few hours later, Nick sat in his truck in the parking lot, waiting for Greg to leave the building. He sipped his coffee, tired, and wondered how Greg had the energy to volunteer after a long shift. Greg came out a few moments later, his earbuds in his ears again. He seemed to do that a lot…like they gave him some sense of distance from the rest of the world. Nick supposed they did. He wondered briefly what Greg was listening to. Something told him it wasn't the wild music he used to listen to. It didn't fit with this current incarnation of Greg, the one that drank protein shakes and Gatorade instead of over priced coffee. That realization did nothing to improve Nick's mood. He put his car in gear and followed Greg out of the parking lot, leaving a few cars between, and wondered at his stalker-esque behavior.

Once Greg had been in the ASPCA for a half hour or so, Nick followed, curious. He told the lady in reception that he was looking to possibly adopt a dog, and she buzzed him through to the kennel area. In investigator mode, Nick looked around corners until he spotted his colleague. Greg was kneeling in front of a little girl and her parents, holding a dog by the leash as it licked the girl in the face. Nick inched closer, turning his back but listening intently as Greg told the family the history of the dog and enthused about how much he seemed to love the little girl. Nick poked his fingers through kennel in front of him and stroked the soft ear of the dog leaning against it. He realized he hadn't heard that tone of voice out of Greg in months. He turned his head as the family decided to adopt the dog and Greg gave them a huge grin, one that actually reached all the way to his eyes. Nick realized all he'd seen out of Greg was small, polite smiles. He furrowed his brow and looked back to the dog in front of him, a sad looking hound dog mix with big gold eyes. He smiled ruefully and headed for the front desk to ask about hours and adoption fees.

Two days later Nick was the proud owner of Ginger, the gold-eyed mutt. The nice lady at the shelter claimed she was Rhodesian Ridgeback and Bassett Hound, but, frankly, Nick didn't care what she was. He just liked her big golden-brown eyes and the way she constantly rolled over to have her belly rubbed. And the way she instantly made his place feel less…what was the word he was looking for? Lonely? He hadn't thought he was lonely. Empty? He scratched a hand through his hair as he considered. Regardless, he liked coming home to her. And he understood why Greg volunteered there. He'd even looked into volunteering , himself. But, for the time being, he was content to sit and watch football, occasionally tossing a chip to the dog sitting next to him on the sofa. Eventually, the two of them fell into a pleasant doze punctuated by the odd snores of a half-basset, and Nick's recurring dreams of a dog with familiar gold eyes looking up at him, begging to be saved.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	7. Chapter 7

Love, Unwilling

Chapter Seven

"Catherine, I need Sanders in my office as soon as he gets in," came through the cell phone clutched between Catherine's shoulder and ear as she attempted to pull on her jacket and collect her kit at the same time.

"Conrad, I need him in the field. We've got a priority triple. You can see him later."

"I'm not going to argue this point with you, Catherine. And I know about the triple."

Catherine rolled her eyes as she flipped her hair out of the confines of the back of her jacket. "Fine. He can meet us at the scene when you're done." She shut her phone before he could respond, spotting Greg on his way into the building. "Greg!" she called across the dark parking lot, changing his trajectory. As he neared she reached out to hand him an address as they crossed paths. "Meet us at the scene when you're done with Ecklie. He wants you in his office."

Greg looked down at the address in his hand, puzzled, before shrugging and heading for Ecklie's office. When he entered, the under-sheriff was on the phone but motioned for him to sit. Greg did so, stiffly, feeling a little unreasonably awkward.

Eventually Ecklie put down his phone and left off his pacing to take a seat. He ran a hand over tired eyes before resting his cheek on it. "Greg. I have a colleague in San Diego. Have you heard about the plane crash there a few hours ago?"

Greg swallowed hard, something tickling the back of his conscious, "Plane crash?" he responded a little unsteadily.

Ecklie swallowed hard and grimaced. "Greg, they haven't officially released names of the deceased, but my colleague called, well, he called because two of the deceased had family here."

Greg swallowed again, his throat dry, eyes wide. "Who was it?" he said, barely audible.

Ecklie looked over the man in front of him, watching the horror of understanding washing over him as he fought it.

"Greg, I'm so sorry. I'll arrange for your leave. How long do you think you might need?"

Greg ran a hand through his hair thinking dully of everything that would need to be done. "I dunno. A month?"

Conrad smiled sadly. "You got it. Call me if you need anything. I'll square tonight with Catherine."

Greg nodded dumbly and rose to go, pulling his phone out of his pocket. By the time he reached his car he had booked a flight to the coast leaving in a little over two hours, and had left messages at both shelters and with his professors. He marveled at his calm, but was grateful for it. Two hours later he sat in a crowded plane and watched as an overworked flight attendant demonstrated how to inflate a life vest with a horrific sense of irony.

By that point, Catherine had already called Ecklie to find out when in the hell he was going to release Greg and send him out to help. When he replied that Greg had left on personal leave and would be gone a month, she lost it.

"What the hell, Conrad? Why's he need personal leave right now?" she'd asked, temper flaring.

"I can't say, Catherine. That's why it's called personal. If he wanted you to know, he would have told you himself."

"Well that's just flipping great!" she yelled into the phone, waving her free hand around in agitation. She stopped herself when she realized she was drawing stares. "And what am I going to do next week when Nick's out of town at his bug symposium?" she gritted out, frustration growing.

"If you can't get a sub from days or swing, Stokes will have to reschedule." Ecklie said stiffly. "I'm sorry Catherine, but nothing can be done for it."

Catherine slammed her phone shut and let out an almost silent curse, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth. Nothing to be done for it, she thought, my ass. She steeled herself for the rest of what promised to be a very long shift, quickly deciding not to discuss the matter with Nick until the end of their shift. That was a conversation she was not looking forward to.

When Catherine returned to the scene, Sara, Nick and Ray looked up, briefly. Sara finally asked "What's taking Greg so long?" to which Catherine replied only "He's not coming." When Sara opened her mouth to ask why, Catherine quickly interrupted. "Later, Sara. Let's just get back to work."

Nick furrowed his brow and bit the inside of his cheek as he continued taking pictures of blood drops, briefly hoping his camera was catching the things he was missing. He stood up from where he'd been kneeling and shook his head to clear it, taking his ball cap off and turning it backward before picking his camera back up. Come on Nicky, he said to himself. Game face on.

His 'game face' lasted almost eleven hours. At the end of a long and painful shift, Catherine cornered him in the locker room, crossing her arms over her chest defensively as she leaned against the door frame.

"Nick."

He looked up tiredly from where he'd been lacing his cross trainers. "What's up Cath?"

She sighed and braced herself for the shitstorm she knew was coming. She loved Nick like a brother, but sometimes, in the right circumstances, his temper could get the worst of him.

"Greg's going to be gone for a month." She rocked back on her heels and waited for that to process.

Nick looked at the floor. "What happened?" he asked, quietly concerned.

Catherine, a little surprised, responded, "I don't know. Ecklie wouldn't say. But, Nicky, I'm so sorry, but we don't have enough coverage…."

Nick looked up sharply at that. "Oh, no you don't," he said through gritted teeth. "I've had that time off on the books for months, Catherine! Do you have any idea how much I've been looking forward to this? How hard it was to get a spot in this symposium?" He stood and kicked at his locker in frustration. "And it's in Hawaii," he whined. "I've never been to Hawaii…"

Catherine looked at her friend and sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry Nicky. I really am." She turned and walked away, leaving a tired and cranky CSI to sulk. Nick slumped onto the bench and let the disappointment wash over him, trying not to blame Greg for this. He knew Greg wouldn't take off if it wasn't something important, despite the way their friendship had deteriorated these past months Greg was still a courteous person. But Nick was tired. And severely disappointed. So, despite the mature person he tried to be, a small part of him lashed out, mentally, at Greg. Damn him anyway. He knew that wasn't fair, and that made him feel worse, which made him lash out again. He stood and ran both hands through his short hair before slamming his locker shut. He needed a drink.

Two hours and a dozen beers later, he was still pissed at Greg. The adorable blond barmaid in the cutoff jean shorts and knotted plaid cowboy shirt that was flirting with him eased his wounded spirit, though, just a bit. And when he said he need to get home and she said her shift was over in ten minutes and she would be happy to drive him, he figured, what the hell?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Greg had been gone three and a half weeks. Because of some shifting they'd had to do to cover, his first shift back from leave was a day shift. He'd been functioning on daylight hours for the past few weeks, anyway, so it suited him. He was collecting messages at the front desk when an attractive blond stepped up beside him to ask Judy to page CSI Stokes.

"Is this in regards to a case?" he asked as he flipped through his messages, not really paying attention.

She laughed lightly. "No, I'm his fiancee." She smiled a toothy grin. "Are you new around here?"

Greg froze. In a half of a heart-beat, his world turned red. He felt like his bones were on fire. He had never felt a pain like this, not even when the lab exploded. He closed his eyes and took one long breath; it felt like he was breathing in flames. He clenched his jaw and composed himself, the only outward sign of his inner turmoil the muscle in his jaw and the twitch of the muscle below his left eye. He rubbed at it briefly.

"No, I'm not new." Greg bit out, eerily calm. "I'd be happy to escort you to your…fiance." He turned on his heel and motioned ahead of him, the pretty girl frowning briefly but eventually shrugging and following his lead. She chatted away, oblivious, as they walked through the cool halls to the lab area. When they reached the break room, Greg pulled the door open as Nick looked up from his coffee. Nick, about to say 'welcome back' or 'where you been?' froze, mug halfway to his mouth, when he met the steeliest glare he'd ever seen…but what really shook him was the tiny, almost undetectable bit of hurt that showed in the depths of those golden brown eyes.

"Stokes, you're fiancee." He turned to give a cold, polite smile to the blond. "Congratulations on your engagement. I'm sure you'll be very happy. Nick is a great guy." Greg bit out before turning on his heel to leave. Nick watched him walk away as the perky blond moved around the table, setting his coffee down with a thunk.

He turned and looked the barmaid. "Fiancee?" he questioned. She giggled. "It's only a matter of time, Nicky…"

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "What do you want, Tiffany? I'm about to start shift."

She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. "I want you to switch shifts and take me out. I don't like that I never get to see you."

"Tiffany. I'm not switching shifts. And I need you to go."

"Fine, I'll go find someone else to hang out with. Call you later?" she pouted, batting her eyelashes.

"Whatever, yes, just go."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Greg sat in his car, engine running, music he hadn't listened to in months blaring at the top of his speakers capacity, yet still apparently deaf to it as he chewed on a fingernail and gazed blindly out the windshield. Sara passed and waved, but he didn't see it. She bit her lip, hurt, and continued into the building. When he tasted blood, he stopped chewing on his nail and looked down at it, surprised, before blankly wiping across his jeans. He put his car in gear and headed for a club across town.

The music here was louder than his car, but it still didn't faze him. He went to the bar and ordered a cocktail, but didn't even bother to taste it. He looked around for what he needed and finally found it. He paid his tab and nodded to the lanky brunet leaning against the other end of the bar, pushed away from his barstool and watched as the man followed him to his car.

The drive to his apartment was silent. When they got inside, Greg let the other man push him into the back of his front door and assault his neck, eventually stopping to make eye contact with heavily lidded eyes.

"Please," Greg pleaded, "just fuck me."

The anonymous man nodded and led Greg down the hall to the open door of his bedroom, where he proceeded to strip them both. With nowhere near enough preparation, he entered Greg roughly, thankfully having brought protection with him since Greg hadn't even thought of that. Greg relished the pain, glad he was on all fours so he wouldn't have to look this man in the face as he fucked him, pulling him back roughly by the hair as he came with a roar.

He pulled out and flopped beside Greg on the bed, catching his breath.

"So, can I call you…?" the stranger started.

"No. But thanks. Please, can you go?" The man looked a little affronted, but shrugged and proceeded to pull his clothes on and let himself out.

When the front door clicked shut, Greg hauled himself off of his bed and ran for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the little he had in his stomach was lost. When he was done, he stood shakily before his bathroom mirror, running the cold water over his hands and face. He looked at himself with disgust and his eyes drifted to the top of the mirror where he'd written in marker 'better, faster, stronger.' Rage tore through the features reflected in the glass and Greg lashed out, burying his fist in the reflection and shattering it while bloodying his knuckles. The mirror fell to the floor in shards, tinkling merrily as it hit, the written words at the top the only part still attached to the wall, mocking him. He felt himself fall to a heap and finally, finally, he lost it. He broke apart at the seams and dissolved into gut wrenching sobs, letting out everything from the last year that he thought he'd eliminated but he'd only tamped down, bottled somewhere deep and low.


	8. Chapter 8

Love, Unwilling

Chapter Eight

Greg woke in a pile on his bathroom floor, his head throbbing, his throat sore, and his body stiff. He pulled himself up until he was sitting leaning against the wall, to survey his dubious handy work with a frown. As he looked at his bloodied hand and flexed it, grimacing, he tried to sort out his thoughts. He found himself a bit shocked at the fact he somehow felt, well, better. A different type of resolve had taken the place of the cold indifference he had been wrapping around himself for so many months.

He stood, slowly, joints creaking, and smiled ruefully before reaching up and knocking the one section of mirror clinging to the wall down. Better, faster, and stronger bit the dust. He studied the blank wall and wondered if he could get away without having a mirror in the bathroom. Less time for self reflection. Probably not. He still needed to at least shave, and no mirror would make that difficult. He looked around the small, clinically white room. It reminded him of himself, lately-all business, all practical. Maybe he needed a change. Maybe he could start small.

After cleaning his bloodied hand in the kitchen sink, he carefully removed all the broken mirror from his bathroom, vaguely wondering about seven years bad luck. He checked his watch when he was done. He had four hours before he had to be at work. Plenty enough time to make a trip to the home improvement store.

He made it home in time to drop off his purchases and get ready for work. He'd dithered longer than he'd intended at the paint department, feeling as though the choice of color for this one small, personal space, was somehow of immense importance, like a new beginning. When he thought about it, it all seemed ridiculous, really. And yet, there he'd stood, in front of an acre of paint swatches, the back of his brain debating the benefits of cerulean blue over the symbolism of a sunny yellow. In the end, he'd handed the paint mixer a card in the crimson family, the name of the color finally sucking him in…'The Tell-Tale Heart.' He snorted. Appro-Poe. Regardless, it would take several coats.

As he reached through his closet to pull his work clothes out, his hand brushed against an old Chuck Taylor shoebox. He pulled it out and flipped the top, sinking to his knees on the floor as all his old photos stared up at him. This is why he'd opted to forgo the huge vanity mirror, and replace it with a small round one that would be surrounded by the frames he'd picked out. He needed to re-embrace himself. He checked his watch...he still had a bit of time…before letting his fingers filter through the paper memories. Long fingers, seemingly with minds of their own, managed to pull out two photos. The first, a shot of himself and his family the last time he'd been able to go home for Christmas. He felt the tears soaking his cheeks but ignored them as his fingers traced the smiling faces. He missed his parents, even as little as he'd seen them in the last few years, they'd always only been a phone call away. His grandparents, his Nana was gone and his Papa Olaf, while still among the living was so far gone to Alzheimer's that he no longer recognized Greg when he was able to visit.

Greg sighed as he set that photo aside and pulled another, this one of a different family. The day he'd passed his final evaluation and made CSI. Catherine had smuggled in champagne. Grissom was still there. Warrick was still alive. And Nick had his arm looped around Greg's neck, looking at Greg with a proud smile as Greg smiled goofily for the camera. He allowed himself a moment of intense study of Nick's smile as he realized how much he missed seeing it directed at him. He let a tiny part of himself hope there was a chance that smile would be directed at him again.

a/n Greg and Nick are, sadly, still not mine.


	9. Chapter 9

As always, these characters still do not belong to me.

Love, Unwilling

Chapter Nine

Catherine stopped mid-sentence as Ecklie strode into the break room.

"Sanders will be out this week." Ecklie turned to leave the room, having done what he needed to do and not feeling the need to explain himself or linger.

"Whoa whoa whoa, back the train up! What do you mean Sanders is going to be out this week? And where is he this time? Or is it still 'personal?'" Catherine threw out, irritated.

Ecklie turned on his heel back to look his grave yard shift supervisor in the eye. "No, Catherine, it's not personal. If you must know, he'll be at a conference at Columbia University."

Nick looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading, still slightly stung that he'd missed his insect symposium in Hawaii. "Why's he get to drop everything and attend conferences?" he mumbled.

Ecklie narrowed his eyes as he studied his employee. "He's not 'attending,' he's speaking at the conference."

At that, all eyes around the break room table were on him. Nick put down his paper and Ray and Sara looked up from the case files they'd been reading.

Finally, Sara broke the silence. "He's speaking? Why him?"

Ecklie crossed his arms and looked a bit defensive. "With two doctorates and two masters in the field, expect him to be loaned out a lot from now on."

Everyone, except Ray, dropped their jaws. Ray leaned back in his chair, one hand over his mouth and an eyebrow cocked, watching.

"Since when does he have two doctorates?" Nick asked softly, confused.

"Since December. I was actually surprised none of you managed to make it for his commencement." Ecklie responded. "I thought you all were friends, or something," he added with a small sneer.

Nick looked down at the table, his confusion not ebbing and a dull pain starting in his chest. He rubbed at it absently as he said, "I'm sure his folks were there for him."

Ecklie studied Nick incredulously for a moment. "I had no idea you were such a cold bastard, Stokes."

Nick looked up in shock and disbelief at that, with nothing more than a half-uttered "Wha?" in response.

"His parents were killed in a plane crash in October, Stokes."

Nick swallowed hard. Sara stifled a cry as her eyes immediately began to tear up. Catherine looked shocked as she covered her mouth with one hand, "oh, my god" slipping between her fingers.

Ecklie looked around the table at his CSI's. "I'm really glad that you people don't consider me a friend, if this is the way you treat them." He turned back on his heel and strode out of the room, a well deserved look of disgust on his face.

Sara sniffled and wiped her nose a her sleeve before pulling her backpack off the back of her chair and opening it, the zipper loud in the shocked silence. She pulled out a composition book and thumped it on to the table, letting the bag fall back to the floor. She opened the book, filled with lines of her cramped writing, to a page she'd marked with a ribbon. Running a finger down a page, she eventually stopped at one entry. Holding her finger there, she turned to look at Nick. "What did you do to him, Nick?" she asked accusingly.

"I'm sorry, what?" Nick asked, confusion growing.

Sara read off a date in August, to which no one responded. "The Williamson case." They all flinched in shared memory. That had been a really disturbing and emotionally charged case that had taken a toll on everyone. Nick slumped back in his chair and let his eyes roll toward the ceiling, quietly mouthing "shit."

"He left with you at the end of the shift, Nick," Sara continued. "And he never came back. Not really. So, what I want to know is, what did you do to him?" she demanded quietly.

"Oh my god, Nicky, did you sleep with him?" Catherine asked from the head of the table before she could stop herself.

Nick looked around the table, slightly panicked. "No, why would you ask that?"

Sara and Catherine both crossed their arms and cocked eyebrows at him, unconsciously in identical poses of disapproval. Ray merely looked curious.

Nick bowed his head and closed his eyes, swearing softly. "No I didn't sleep with him. I, er, I guess I almost did, and then sort of realized what was happening. Um, it really didn't go well after that. Jesus. I tried to explain myself, but he didn't really want me around him after that."

Sara and Catherine shared a look. "Go fix it. Or, I swear to god Nick, I may never forgive you." Catherine nodded in agreement. "Nicky, it's always been floating around between you two. Or, at least until recently." She sighed and pulled out her phone. "Nicky, you don't look so good. In fact, I think you have a fever. We may have to do without you for the next few days." Nick cocked an eyebrow. "Go pack. I'll text you with the airline reservation."


	10. Chapter 10

a/n. Thank you so incredibly much for the reviews! They light up my day. As always, these two adorably angsty guys are not mine. Pretty sure this will be the second to last chapter.

Love, Unwilling

Chapter Ten

Greg held his cell to his ear with his shoulder as he tried to unpack his bags and shake the wrinkles out of his clothes in the hopes of avoiding ironing. He added the occasional "mmm-hmm" and "no, I didn't know that" when there was the occasional lull. He rolled his eyes. He liked his publisher, but she tended to say fifty words where ten would do. When a knock sounded at the door, he was grateful for the excuse to end the call, but she was still giving him last minute instructions as he pulled open the door.

"Genie, I'm gonna have to call you back."

Greg stuck his phone in his pocket and swallowed hard over his suddenly dry mouth, his eyes locked on the man before him, a myriad of emotions warring in them as he stared back.

"Can I come in?"

Greg opened the door, gesturing into the room. He closed the door with a quiet click and leaned against it, watching as the other man walked over to the large windows and appreciated the view, his hands in his pockets and his back to the room.

"Nick, what the hell are you doing here?"

Nick didn't turn, but Greg could see the pulse jumping in his neck and the twitch in the muscle of his jaw.

"Nick?"

Nick put a hand on the window ahead of him and leaned forward, looking down at the busy street. "Nice view, Greggo." he said softly before turning to look Greg in the face, really studying him for the first time in a long time.

"I'm here because Sara threatened to castrate me if I didn't fix what I broke."

Greg crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the floor to hide the disappointment in his face, though he couldn't, in that moment, figure out exactly what he'd been expecting. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

"I'm here because I miss you. I'm here because we all miss you."

"I haven't gone anywhere. I've been right there. Right where I've always been," Greg bit out.

"No, no you haven't. Not really. Look," Nick started, running a frustrated hand over his face. "I don't want to make this all about me, this is about you, but after that night, you were never the same. You locked me out. You locked everyone out."

This time Greg turned his back to look out the window, formulating his next words carefully.

"I never intended for you to know."

"Know what?"

Greg swallowed and took a quick look at Nick's face before looking back out the window. He smirked a little sadly at his own reflection. Fuck it. "Know that I've been in love with you for years."

Nick tried really hard to hold back the gasp that escaped him, to no avail. Greg looked to him when he heard it, his face grim at what he felt to be confirmation of Nick's disgust at the idea.

"I really wish you hadn't left that night," Nick said softly. "I wish you had let me explain." He scratched at the back of his neck absently. "Although, I'm not really sure I understood what was going on, myself."

Greg grit his teeth. "The look on your face pretty much said it all, Nick."

Nick looked back at Greg, anger and frustration creeping into his expression. One misunderstanding and bout of hurt pride at a perceived rejection had led to months of isolation.

"Greg, sit the fuck down and just listen would you? For once? Please?"

Greg bit the inside of his cheek and raised an eyebrow, his gaze on the floor, but he grudgingly took a seat in the cushy chair in the corner of the room and crossed his ankle over his knee, gripping the arms until his knuckles whitened.

Nick took a deep breath and ran both hands through his hair, scratching his scalp and then running them down his face, letting a deep breath out into his hands and then crossing his arms over his chest.

"I wish you'd stayed. I…" he took a deep breath and continued. "I've always had rules about getting involved with anyone at work. I've seen it end really badly, ruin careers. But beyond that…." he gestured towards Greg with one hand, appealingly. "I've never thought about any guy like that before."

"Again, I sort of got that from the expression on your face. Jesus, Nick, I've seen you look at rapists or molesters with less disgust."

Nick rubbed absently at his chest as the dull ache he'd felt so often over the last few months flared. He looked sadly at Greg. "I was disgusted with myself, Greg. I took advantage of you. A colleague. A friend. And I was really confused. I really needed to figure it out, you know. I needed to talk it out, with someone. Usually, I would talk to you about crap like that, or maybe Catherine. But you left. You wouldn't talk to me. You said to let it lie….I thought you were disgusted with me, that you were angry that I'd taken advantage of you…You left before I could work it out, before we could figure it out…."

Greg covered his mouth with long fingers and stared past Nick into the middle distance, blinking rapidly as he replayed that night through his mind, unlocking it from the box he'd put it in. After a long moment, he looked up at Nick, realization and shock dawning. Nick took the opportunity to step towards where Greg sat, hesitating only momentarily before dropping to a crouch in front of Greg and lightly resting a hand on Greg's knee. Greg's eyes were drawn to it.

"I've missed you so damn much, G."

Greg took a deep breath and let his hand fall lightly on top of Nick's, trying not to let it shake. When Nick ran his thumb over the side of Greg's hand, Greg's breath hitched and his eyes filled. He blinked to clear them. As he took a deep breath in order to make some grand declaration, the alarm on his cell went off. He looked at his watch and removed the hand from on top of Nick's to wipe a hand over his eyes as he let his head drop back. "Fuck. Nick, I've got to go." Disappointed, Nick nodded, looking at the floor. "No, I mean I have to be at a lecture hall in, fuck, forty-seven minutes. I'm barely going to make it…"

Nick smiled and stood, reaching for Greg's hands and pulling him to his feet, smirking as he watched Greg hurry around the room and throw stuff into his bag. "Yeah, I know. You're a big shot PhD now."

Greg froze from where he'd been shuffling through his pockets. He looked up in trepidation, not sure what Nick would think of his degrees.

"I'm so damn proud of you, G."

For the first time in a long time, Greg let himself smile at Nick Stokes. A real smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Can we talk after your lecture?"

Greg looked him over, saw that he was sincere. "Yeah. I've got a meeting after the lecture with my publisher, but after that I'm free," he said as he opened his wallet and tossed his spare room key card at Nick.

Nick caught the card in the air. "Publisher?"

Greg smirked and pulled a book out of the suitcase still resting open on his bed. Half a grin on his face, he pulled a sharpie out of his jacket pocket and wrote something across the inside of the front page before tossing the book to Nick, throwing his messenger bag over his shoulder and heading towards the door. As he passed, Nick snagged his sleeve and held.

"I'm so sorry about your folks, G."

Greg closed his eyes and let out a sharp breath. Without opening them, he turned, another deep breath, and he wrapped his arms around Nick's neck, impossibly glad when he felt the embrace returned with two strong arms wrapped around his waist and a nose tucked behind his ear. "I am so, so sorry, Greg," said low.

Greg opened his eyes as he pulled away. "We'll talk later, right?"

Nick smiled. "Yeah," and Greg was gone.

Nick pulled the book off the bed and took a moment to look over the jacket, front and back, another proud smile lighting his face as he read the byline. How the hell this guy had the time to do the things he did, Nick would never know. He just kind of hoped somehow Greg would be able to work him into his schedule. Nick opened the cover of the book, curious. Greg had autographed it.

"To Nick, the best thing I've found in Vegas so far. Yours, Always, Greg."


End file.
